L'Homme Fatale
by AnihyrMoonstar
Summary: Holly sees something she thinks she shouldn’t have, but things aren’t what they seem. Later, Butler and Holly discuss what it means to love Artemis Fowl. Bulter/Artemis, One-Sided Holly/Artemis
1. The French Kiss

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Artemis Fowl, Domovoi Butler, or anyone/thing else from Eoin Colfer's work, nor do I make any profit writing stories about them. I just like playing in his sandbox. 'Nuff said.

**A/N: **This idea came to me late at night. That's not an excuse, just a semi-pointless fun fact. I actually kina like how it turned out. Rated T for, ummm…sexual themes and a bit of language I guess. I consider this really tame, personally. No spoilers this chapter, but there will be in the next one.

**Chapter One:**

_The French Kiss_

**Second Floor of _L'espadon Noir_, Southern France**

"_Oui, comme_ _ça!_"

In the second floor pantry of a little-known restaurant somewhere on the southern coast of France, a kitchen maid panted across a bag of flour.

"_Oh-ohh…_"

Each pant sent a fresh puff of the cloudy white cooking ingredient fleeing wildly into the air as she pushed back, groaning, against her several-years-senior manager.

"_Oui, oui…plus vite!_"

Directly above her, crammed into an already too-tight air duct, Holly Short scowled darkly, wondering, not for the first time, how she always managed to let Artemis get her into these sorts of things. Then, her communicator bleeped: green for go. Immediately, she pushed everything else from her mind—and scuttled forward.

Two feet. Five feet. Ten.

At twenty-three and seven inches, she came to a split and took a left, building schematics ghosting along the screen in front of her. Six more. Three, two, one, and—there—she stopped, held her breath, and listened.

"—in the old washroom," grunted a low, rasping voice some ways away, but approaching steadily. "Boss said they'd both be out cold fer a good 'nother hour or so, but my guess is the biggun 'll be comin' around sooner. I'd keep an eye on 'im if I was you."

Scooting another half inch forward, Holly was rewarded with a significantly clearer view of the room directly below.

Dimly lit and musky, it smelled faintly of some odd juxtapose of cat hair and old cabbage, even from her position. A single dusty and dying bulb flicked yellow light over the two characters in its center. Two, by the looks of things, very _conscious_ characters, despite the expectations of the approaching men, and even in the lousy light, there was no mistaking them—Butler and Artemis.

Holly took a brief moment to think that whoever left those two alone, _together,_ and expected to keep them constrained for long obviously hadn't done their history homework. And then: _Well, they're about to learn the hard way_.

Except—they weren't supposed to be moving _yet_.

Holly frowned, watching anxiously as Artemis squirmed, nudging his guard, getting his attention. Couldn't he hear the men approaching? They were supposed to think they were both _out_. It wasn't like Artemis to go against the plan like this. There were still too many steps to carry out.

Butler swayed at the nudge, still looking slightly sluggish. Holly couldn't blame him—not after all the knock-outs _he'd_ taken. One would have thought they were trying to tranq an elephant. Close enough to the truth, but still.

When he managed to turn his head, tilting it over his shoulder, he mumbled something, but Holly missed it.

They were back to back down there, slouched on the wooden floorboards. Nothing but a few good sailor's knots in some heavy, old fashioned, three-strand twisted, natural fiber _rope_ secured their wrists behind their backs—another sign that their captors had no idea who they were dealing with—but then, getting captured _was_ part of the plan. Unlike, Holly mentally noted again, whatever Artemis was _doing_.

The men were almost there. She heard the clink of keys rattling together. But no, Artemis was still hissing something to Butler, insistent, leaning up. She grit her teeth, hands moving instinctively to her holster, because if those two didn't start playing dead again soon, they were all going to—

Her thoughts flat lined right about there.

Artemis was _kissing_ Butler.

Artemis was—Holly clapped her dropping jaw shut, trying to forcibly reign in her heart rate—he was kissing his _bodyguard_. When the hell had _that_ developed, she thought desperately. Wasn't he just barely _fifteen_?

Then: _Why do I care so much?_

Blinking harshly, she shook herself. No time to lose sight of things now. Concentrate. Ask questions later. Down below, both 'prisoners' had pulled apart, and by the time the door opened, they looked convincingly unconscious once more.

A small, confused, and—hurt?—part of Holly, wished momentarily to join them in unconscious bliss. She crushed the thought quickly.

**Two hours earlier…**

_Baaaaammmmmp_…

The piercing car horn needled its way through the muggy haze of Artemis's conscious.

_Where…?_

Immediately, his body protested the fight for consciousness. Pins and needles, jackhammers and chainsaws, and maybe a couple rounds fired off from one of Butler's automatic rifles—all in a confined little personal explosion behind his eyes and between his temples. He barely remembered to stifle his moan in time.

He wasn't _supposed_ to be awake yet. At least, not as far as his captor's were concerned.

Squinting his eyes tighter shut and swallowing dryly, he wondered if this was what a hangover was like.

Unable to force open his eyes, Artemis worked to fill in as many blanks as possible through sound and feel. It was pitch black behind his closed lids, not even traces of orange or yellow, so night had fallen. Obviously, he was in a car. Gravel rumbled under the tires signaling they'd left the main roads, but the horn moments ago suggested they had yet to enter deserted streets. The cushioning beneath him felt soft, and he twitched his fingers. Pseudo-leather, squishy—he was in the back seat, not the trunk. And then he noticed: his hands weren't bound. That might come in handy.

Voices told him he shared the vehicle with two men: the driver—currently spouting curses to some unidentified target out the window—and one other, in the passenger seat, grunting at the driver as he busily fiddled with the radio. Neither were paying Artemis the least bit of attention. Flunkies. Convinced of at least temporary safety, he let his eyes droop shut again, heavy. Just five more minutes, his body reasoned. Five more minutes…or hours…

He woke the second time to a sharp jolt, as if they had gone too fast over a speed bump or hit a pot hole. Then, a jutting brake almost rolled him off the seat. There already? But no, men made no move to reach for or relocate him, and seconds later two car doors clicked open and then thumped shut, footsteps walking off. It took Artemis a moment to conclude—they were taking a _cigarette_ break. He might have rolled his eyes if it hadn't felt like too much effort. Instead, he put them to a simpler, more productive task—opening.

This time, his efforts bore fruit. Slowly.

Ceiling. He blinked, over and over, letting his eyes gradually adjust. Seat. Bit by bit, like tuning a temperamental lens, he brought the objects in his range of vision into focus. He couldn't make out how far the men had gone from this angle, but their voices had faded out, completely out of range, so he reasoned it was some distance, and allowed himself time for a more meticulous inspection. It didn't take him long to locate his goal, and his heart stuttered at the ridiculous _luck_.

Clearly, the entire operation had been a cheap, under-informed hoax of some sort. Possibly even nothing more than a petty revenge act to scare the Paradizos out of their new line of research. Not only had they left the chip in the hands of goonies, but the goonies had left it behind, in the open, right _there_ between the two front seats—next to paper clips and gum wrappers, no less. Their most valuable capture: utterly unguarded. Now, this wasn't to say that Beau wasn't _valuable_. He was the youngest son of one of the wealthiest, most brilliant men in Europe. However, at best, his ransom could only amount to one Paradizo fortune. That chip, in the right hands, was worth _several_ Paradizo fortunes—perhaps with a Fowl fortune or two added on top.

Artemis weighed his options.

If he heisted it now—assuming he could convince his limbs to cooperate—that would save them the trouble of tracking it down later. It was tiny, about the size of a small button, and already half hidden under the rest of the junk it sat by. Evidently not high on their priority list, they probably wouldn't miss it for a while. Simply holding it was out of the question though, and stuffing it into his clothes was almost as dangerous. They were also bound to search him for it later. Still, it was too great of an opportunity to pass up on the fly. So, after a moment's consideration, he confirmed his privacy, expended no insignificant amount of effort in sliding himself just close enough to reach, and snatched it up. Then, uttering one silent prayer that it had not yet graced anywhere _too_ foul, he blew it off, brushed it with the corner of his shirt tail, and tucked it under his tongue, sticking a similar, completely blank look alike in its place amidst the gum wrappers.

By the time his captors returned, Artemis had long since reverted back to his prone position, and the car started again with a hearty rumble, neither man any the wiser. They never spared a glance between the seats.

**Thirty-eight hours earlier, Tourettes sur Loup, Southern France**

"_Bonjour_, Goldilocks…" purred a deep voice from behind, and Beau jerked his head up, blue, saucer eyes leaping off of the window of fancifully colored sweets and onto a too-bright smile on an unfamiliar face. "Where's your mama bear? You're not _lost_ are you?"

Beau shook his head indignantly, blonde curls bobbing. "_Pas perdu_," he said. "_Qui es tu_?"

"Me? Why…I'm your new best friend…" the newcomer said, unsettling smile broadening, and Beau looked doubtful. Sensing this, the newcomer changed topics, indicating the candy shop window. "Would you like some of those?"

Like magic, all doubt in the new man vanished, and Beau's eyes brightened. "Oh_, oui!_" he professed immediately,"_certainement!_"

"There's a good kid…here," the man held out a solid chocolate bar, thinly wrapped in gold foil, which Beau greedily accepted, "this oughta hold ya over till we find something you want…"

It would be fifteen minutes before Minerva finally took pity on her little brother, wagering he had probably learned his lesson by then and punished himself enough with his own tears after realizing he was lost to deserve a rescue. It would be another thirty minutes before she realized what he'd made off _with_—though she wouldn't know until much later that he'd stolen it purely out of spite for her refusing him extra bonbons that morning—and another ninety-three before she truly panicked.

**Present, Old Washroom of _L'espadon Noir_**

About the time Holly Short was brooding in the air ducts above the restaurant pantry, trying her best to ignore the seedy activities of the kitchen maid and restaurant manager below, Domovoi Butler was working hard to drag himself free of the effects of enough tranquilizers to down an elephant. Artemis, wriggling insistently against him, was enough to speed up this process significantly. Clearly, Artemis wanted his attention _now_, and Butler fought the drugs hard to give it to him.

His skull pounded, and his wrists were bound—but weakly enough that, given some minutes to regain his strength, the binds wouldn't be much of a setback should he find the need to be rid of them. He'd prepared and administered an antidote to dull the effects of likely sedatives as soon as Artemis had announced his 'plan,' but even now, in full swing, he didn't particularly like it—too many loose ends, too much time away from his charge's side. At least so far, it seemed to be working out.

"Butler…" Artemis's voice worked its way in through the throbbing. "Butler, are you conscious?"

Butler, scrunching his eyes shut, grunted noncommittally. "Unless I'm dreaming," he answered and rolled his jaw, working feeling back into stiffened muscles and joints one by one. At his back, Artemis let out a soft sigh.

"You're not dreaming," he assured, sounding serious and relieved. "In any case, I don't imagine a dream would be this uncomfortable."

Butler almost asked what sorts of dreams _Artemis_ had, but then thought better of it and curbed his tongue. "Aren't we supposed to be knocked out anyway?"

"In less than a minute when they walk back in here, yes," responded Artemis, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice. "They're almost certain to drag me back out as soon as they arrive, but first I need to…give you something."

Butler blinked, much of his concentration still focused on, well, _focusing_. "Something…?" he repeated vaguely, squinting as the shelves in front of him slowly started forming into more meaningful, defined shapes.

"Yes, I…"

Come to think of it, there was another odd quality to Artemis's words, other than anxiety, almost as if he—had something on his tongue? Voices approached down the hall, pulling Butler from that line of thought, and Artemis hissed something unintelligible, vaguely reminiscent of a curse.

"Artemis-"

"Turn," commanded Artemis, "and give me your…mouth."

"My…" Butler blinked, "…_what?_" he asked, totally thrown even as he obeyed, working to lean and twist, turning his head over his shoulder.

_Trust me_, were the last words Artemis's lips read before his fingers caught in the binds on Butler's wrists, tugging him just a fraction closer and providing just enough leverage for Artemis to lean up and—

Later, Butler would have time to reflect and consider that, in retrospect, it might have been slightly more helpful/practical to mouth something more along the lines of _Hold still_, _Don't pull back_, or even _I'm going to feed you an extremely important data-chip with my tongue, so open wide_. As it was, his first cognitive thought upon having Artemis's mouth close over his was: Is this really the _time?_

Then, something hard and metallic—in combination with a tiny flick of something conversely very soft and _wet_—pressed against his lips. Realizing for the first time the actual _purpose_ behind the exchange, Butler quickly cleared from his daze and opened his mouth more cooperatively, taking the offered piece and slipping it under his own tongue—not a moment too soon.

**A/N: **At first I couldn't decide if Butler and Artemis were together already in this or not. Part of me said yes, definitely; another said no, not yet, let them squirm. In the end, I left it purposefully vague. I think I have my mind made up on which it is now, but guesses? Preferences? Inferences? Oh yeah, and in case anyone's interested:

**Translations:**

_L'espadon Noir_ - The Black Swordfish

_Oui, comme_ _ça!_ - Yes, like that!

_Plus vite! _- Faster!

_Pas perdu._ - Not lost.

_Qui es tu_? - Who are you?

Questions/comments/complaints—I'm pretty open minded, but some sort of feedback would be graciously appreciated. Thanks for your time! :)

P.S. Sorry if it was weird that a computer chip spent so much time, erm, in and out of people's mouths, but, I figure, technology in the Artemis Fowl genre has undergone worse things before and survived, right? So why not? What I really needed, if it wasn't obvious, was a good excuse to get Butler and Artemis "kissing," and yet not, for a captive audience. ;)


	2. Sleeping Beau

**A/N:** This…is probably the fastest this story will ever get updated. Probably. Iono. Enjoy?

**Chapter Two:**

_Sleeping Beau_

Artemis had kissed him.

The old, wooden door to their makeshift prison protested loudly when opened, hinges creaking, panels groaning, and their two visitors brought with them the pungent, muggy scent of alcohol and cheap tobacco.

Artemis—his charge, his protégé, a _child_—had—

No, Butler mentally checked himself.

Artemis had _passed_ him a very vital piece of technology. With his mouth. By means of a process in which their lips had pressed one to the other and their tongues—

The floorboards moaned under stress, heavy footsteps clopping closer, and Butler lopped off his train of thought at the roots.

"The lil'un is all Boss wants fer now," grunted a low, raspy voice, "Says the chip ain't right or somethin'…need to search 'im again 'case he lifted it," and Butler took a moment to wonder what a fluent, accented English speaker was doing in southern France kidnapping the five-year-old son of a cosmetic surgeon. True, the Paradizos had much to offer, but so did plenty of English or American families. Why go to the trouble of hopping continents?

"When? In the _car?_" responded the speaker's companion. "That kid's been lively as a sack of grain since we put him under…"

"No tellin'," muttered the first, and they moved to either side of Artemis. "Get his legs, will ya? Looks like we may hafta give 'im a bit of encouragement to wake up…"

About there, all of Butler's attention went into ignoring every screaming instinct in order to _not_ move as they lifted Artemis away from him.

It was no small task.

They thought he was unconscious. With the element of surprise, he could fell one and have his binds around the neck of the other before they knew what hit them. They were almost certainly armed, but it wouldn't take much to disarm and debilitate them. They could find the Paradizo kid later—with_out_ losing track of Artemis. But that wasn't the plan.

Artemis knew what he was doing, Butler insisted silently to himself. Not to mention, despite petering away rapidly, the drugs still retained some significant effect over him, muddling his senses, slowing his reaction time. There was too much room for error and not enough incentive to risk rousing the suspicion of others, making a scene and bringing the whole set-up down around their heads.

Still, by the time the door clicked shut behind them, rattling keys locking it in place, Butler's heart felt like a panicked bird in a bone cage, powerful wings beating in vain against the bars of its living prison. He flexed his fists, grit his teeth, and started counting.

_One, two, three_…

In an hour, it would all be over.

…_four, five, six_…

They would all be out of here. Alive. Well.

…_seven, eight, nine_…

Artemis would be safe.

* * *

"…ten," Holly whispered aloud, shimmered out of her shield, and dropped, boots hitting hardwood without a sound—a perfect landing behind the only remaining target in the room. She let one of Butler's throwing knives slip from her belt and into her open palm. "Miss me?" she asked with perhaps a little more than merited sting, but Butler didn't twitch, and his binds split like water under the blade.

"Always," he responded, rubbing hands over his wrists as soon as the rope fell away, "and your timing is impeccable."

Holly, dropping his weapon to the ground with a snort, kept her eyes averted.

"Gee thanks," she grunted and proceeded to return his Sig Sauer, Derringer pistol, the _rest_ of his confiscated throwing knives, several stun-grenades, _and_ his ball-bearing cosh. "I try." Without a sideways glance, she started for the door.

"Holly?"

Well shit.

So much for discretion.

Holly stalled, hand on the knob. She took a breath, fought the urge—and then caved, looking over her shoulder. Butler's expression betrayed far too much insight for her complete comfort.

"Yes?" she asked, voice frustratingly small, and she scowled inwardly at her inability to stamp out the feeling of playing the fussy child—temperamental over something ridiculous.

"Something's wrong," observed Butler, tucking his various weapons away as he spoke, but leaving no room for argument. "What happened?"

There wasn't time for this. Holly knew that. She also knew that it wasn't her business to interfere in the first place. She had no reason to be upset. Artemis wasn't _hers_ after all. She'd made no claim on his time or his affection. He had every right to do whatever he pleased, as he always did.

All things considered, she startled herself almost as much as Butler when she blurted, "Do you always kiss children? Or is Artemis just _special?_"

**Meanwhile…**

"_Je veux les bonbons! Je veux les_ bonbons!" wailed Beau with enough wind to spark an opera singer's envy. Across the room, his 'babysitter' shut his eyes, fingers shaped into imaginary guns and pressed hard to his temples.

Kidnapping. That sounded simple enough, right? Nab a kid, bag the ransom, dump the goat back safe and sound with its parents and get the hell out of Dodge. Sure. Simple. Only, people always tended to forget the _kid_ part of _kid_napping.

And he _hated_ kids.

They cried; they spat. They puked, and bit and whined. When the thought of everything he'd do with the sizeable paycheck in store for him at the end of this job no longer sufficed to sooth his growing migraine, he resorted to perfecting the all-too-tempting fantasy of shoving another heavily sedative-induced chocolate bar as far down the screaming child's throat as heavenly possible. If only…

The door banged loudly, and he groaned, scrunching his eyes tighter against the added noise.

"Simon!" barked a voice from the other side. "Open the fuck up, will you? We have a…package…"

Brow furrowing, Simon allowed himself another half second of wallowing in tantrum-induced misery before heaving a resigned sigh and getting to his feet to oblige his visitor. Make that visitor_s_, he thought upon 'opening the fuck up,' and promptly glared at his two teammates, glancing only fleetingly to their alleged 'package'—one of the bonus prisoners, by the looks of things. The smaller one.

"And what's this?" he grunted. "Weren't we supposed to leave them _be_?"

"Yeah, well, Boss said ta take another look," growled the man bearing the brunt of the burden, Craig, the oldest among them, and he shouldered past Simon as he spoke.

"_Je veux les bonbons!_" their youngest captive continued to bellow, and, dumping his load unceremoniously on the nearest table, Craig scowled in Beau's direction.

"God damn, that thing oughta be in a freakin' condom commercial. Doesn't he ever run outta _breath?_"

"Not so far as I can tell…" muttered Simon, feeling at least as foul as his fellow conspirator looked he folded his arms and leaned back against a wall, watching Craig rustle through the unconscious kid's clothes.

He couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen. Slim, pale—not the type that got out much. What had _he_ done to get wrapped up in all this? Simon sighed wearily. One thing was sure: he would be glad when this was all over. Hate them he might, but roughing up minors just wasn't his thing—and neither was babysitting.

"_Je veux le_-" Beau's words cut off into a garbled yelp, chopped short by a rough, choking grip at the base of his chin. Against the wall, Simon tensed.

"Listen here, kid…" Craig snarled darkly. Then, frowning thoughtfully, he tossed a look in Simon's direction. "This rat speak English?"

"_Je le parle_," blubbered Beau, drawing attention back to himself. At the sharp, narrow-eyed look his words received, his already tear-streaked cheeks darkened. "I…I…understand…" he self-corrected. "B-but what…are you g-going to do with…Artemis?"

Craig frowned. "Artemis?" he repeated, confusion softening his bark. "Who the h-"

"_I_ am Artemis…" interrupted a voice from the first table, and four heads snapped immediately to the speaker, "and if I were you…I would remove my hand from that boy's throat as quickly as you find physically possible."

Understandably, it took Craig a moment to gather himself.

Then, about to snarl that he didn't take orders from _pre_-teens, he realized his hand had already left Beau's neck. Glowering spitefully, took a step towards Artemis instead. "Oh yeah?" he retorted, fingers slipping instinctively to his holster. "And what's ta make me afraid of _you_, huh?" he challenged. "'Cause it seems to me…" He bared a missing tooth in the unfriendliest grin he could manage, "…I'm the one holdin' the cards here, _boy_…"

Artemis didn't blink. If anything, he looked infuriatingly _more_ smug. "Oh, trust me," he said, a slow, knowing smirk curving onto his lips as he spoke, "it's not _me_ you should be afraid of…"

Craig took a moment to look puzzled.

Then, "…it's me," rumbled a voice like distant thunder from the doorway, and all three kidnappers noted simultaneously to themselves that 'The Biggun' looked significantly _bigger_ upright and conscious.

* * *

"Do you always kiss children? Or is Artemis just _special?_" accused Holly, hurt and anger thinly laced into the otherwise deadpan snap, and Butler's gut gave a sickening lurch, realization hitting hard.

Oh, he thought dizzily. _That's_ what was wrong. He swallowed.

"Holly…" he began after a sizeable pause, choosing his words like choosing footing on a loaded mine field, "we both know Artemis is extremely special. However…" He raised a hand to his lips, carefully picking out the cause of his troubles, and watched Holly's anger morph slowly into puzzlement—curiosity, "…please trust me when I say…it's _not_ what you think." He brought the chip to the corner of his shirt, dabbed it off, and then lifted it between his fingers, squinting. Finally, he held it out to Holly. "I assume," he said, "that he didn't want to store it in his clothes for fear of it being found, and then, when he expected he'd be searched and needed to pass it off to me…with both our hands bound…"

Nut-brown cheeks darkened a shade—then another—and another.

"_Oh_…" Holly's voice was a hoarse squeak. "He…it…you…" At long last, she looked up, guilt pouring into her expression as it all fell into place. "Oh, Butler…I'm so sorry, I didn't…I never should have…it's just that after seeing-"

Butler caught her shoulder, squeezing gently. "What were you _supposed_ to think?"

Holly, keeping eye contact, swallowed. "No." She shook her head. "That's no excuse. Even if…" If possible, her already burning cheeks darkened further, but she barreled on stubbornly. "Even if that _was_ what it had looked like, I had no right…no reason to…"

Butler raised an eyebrow.

Holly steeled herself, face a lovely, dark mahogany. "Alright, fine," she grunted brusquely, meeting his calm amusement with a scowl that no longer reached her eyes. "We'll talk about this later."

Behind her, Butler smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me."

There, they separated.

Holly took an upward route, out of sight. Butler, following her brief directions with the aid of a tracking device pinpointing Artemis's new location, moved off down the hall. As he descended an aged flight of stairs at the rear of the building, hugging the wall to avoid excess creaking, and edged around an empty kitchen, he wondered in passing how such a place could possibly serve the double life that it did. Surely even one night of unexplained gunshots would be enough to scare off even the most avid of customers? Perhaps it was a one time thing.

Almost to his marked destination, Butler slowed his approach.

"…and if I were you," came a very familiar voice from under the nearest door, "I would remove my hand from that boy's throat as quickly as you find physically possible."

Alone and unarmed in room with kidnappers and murderers—and still the epitome of self-assured composure. Sighing, Butler shook his head and aligned himself against the wall just to the right of the door's frame, prepping his nine-millimeter. Ah, Artemis, he thought. And then: _God it feels good to have this gun back._

"…it seems to me," one of their captor's was saying, "…I'm the one holdin' the cards here, _boy_…"

Wait for the signal. Holly must have been _almost_ there by now.

"Oh, trust me," said Artemis, and Butler could _see_ the smirk curving onto his charge's lips with those words—that thin, curling smirk that promised ruin to its audience as surely as smoke promised fire, "it's not _me_ you should be afraid of…"

One blink—a single, silent blip on the communicator at his wrist—Holly's signal, and Butler might have chuckled if it wouldn't have spoiled his cover. One might have thought she'd actually _planned_ for that sort of timing.

Not one to ruin a perfect entrance, Butler took the lead in and stepped through the door, finishing Artemis's thought with an ominous, "…it's me," just in time to successfully draw the focus of every man in the room. Behind them, shimmering in her suit, Holly dropped down.

The man previously stalking for Artemis gained his bearings first. But, Butler's gun was already pulled, and before he could make up his mind, two marble-sized balls fell 'out of thin air' from the ceiling, tapping to the floor and rolling, rolling…

And: _action_.

_Click_—Butler notched the door shut behind him, and a second later, _Pshhh!_ both balls erupted with all the histrionic flare of a magician's smoke-bomb.

"Beau, _retenez ton souffle!_" demanded Artemis a half-second before following his own advice and clapping his mouth shut, the command impressively sharp over the immediate eruption of noise and action from the unprepared persons in the room.

Unfortunately, Beau was not accustomed to taking orders. "_Retiens mon souffle?_" he repeated, pouting indignantly."_Pourquoi de_…_je_…" His eyes dipped. "_Je suis_…" His body swayed, mouth opening into a yawn, "…_fatigué_…"

Butler caught him before he hit the floor.

No one was so kind to the others affected, and seconds later, three heavy thuds announced their previous captors' subsequent descents into unconsciousness.

**Minutes later, Outside _L'Espadon Noir_**

"Beau? _Beau!_" cried Minerva. Upon spotting her brother—limp and cradled, bridal style, in Butler's arms—she broke instantly into a sprint, nearly tripping over herself in the rickety gravel in her haste to get to him, and her voice trembled when she arrived. "Oh, Beau…_mon_ Bo-bo, my poor baby…" she whispered, unshed tears bubbling behind her eyes as Butler knelt to a knee, bringing him to her level, and she reached with quivering fingers to his forehead, brushing back blonde curls. "_Désolé_, Bo-bo, I'm so sorry…" She shook her head, lifting wide, glimmering blue eyes to Butler's. "This was all my fault…"

"He'll be fine," he comforted her strictly. "Just some knock-out gas. Give him a few hours…he'll be good as new."

"A situation," Artemis cut in crisply, "which might have been avoided entirely if you'd ever deigned to teach him some respect for authority." Minerva's glance darted up, and he arched an eyebrow at her. "I _gave_ him fair warning. I even—_mmph_…"

Minerva never gave him the liberty of finishing that sentence, throwing her arms tightly around him instead, and, much to his comic surprise, muffling the remainder of his words with a solid, head-on kiss.

"_Mille mercis_, Artemis," she gushed, expression wreathed with gratitude when she pulled back. "I am…ever indebted to you. Truly."

Artemis, looking thoroughly off-balance, swallowed. He glanced to Butler—who proceeded immediately to take Beau to the awaiting car—Holly—who promptly followed Butler—and then finally, seeing as he was obviously not going to receive any outside help on this one, back to Minerva.

"It was…nothing," he replied, trying on an awkward smile—with mixed results. "Really. I-"

"Sir?"

Artemis looked as if he'd been saved from the jaws of death itself. "Yes, Butler?"

"Those men will not remain unconscious as long as Beau will…and it will take less time than that for their superiors to catch on that something is amiss. If you and Miss Paradizo could continue your conversation in the car perhaps…?"

"Oh, yes, of course," agreed Artemis, eagerly latching on to the excuse to flee, and he skirted deftly out from Minerva's clutches, making a bee-line for the car. Behind him, Minerva looked to Butler, caught his shrug, and then rolled her eyes. When she stepped into the car, though, she was smiling.

"Relax, Fowl," she said, winking teasingly at his apparent unease as she slid in next to him. "Everyone knows…the French will kiss anyone."

She took a mental snapshot and savored his answering expression for the remainder of the trip.

**A/N:** I realize I drew in a mixed bag with my summary (some A/H shippers, I think, as well as other general non-slash fans?), but I hope, maybe, I can keep some of you, even if you don't approve of the slashing. It WILL be Butler/Artemis (eventually) but I want to take it slow for once, let it build, and drag it out over (OMG) plot.

The next chapter will be dedicated mostly to Holly's "talk" with Butler, and then some other stuff which I won't talk about because, hey, you'll find out if you stick around, yeah? Thanks for reading this far; I live for feedback. Questions/comments, I'm all for it.

P.S. Please don't hate on Minerva. I like her a little. She won't steal Arty's heart; I PROMISE. 'Mmk?

P.P.S. If anyone's really bored, google "bonbon condom commercial." Funniest 'effin thing ever. And inspiring. :D

**Translations:**

_Je veux les bonbons! _- I want (the) candy!

_Je le parle. - _I speak it.

_Retenez ton souffle!_ - Hold your breath!

_Retiens mon souffle? - _Hold my breath?

_Pourquoi de_…_je_… - Why wou…I… (Note: I believe "_pourquoi devrais-je_" is "why would I" so, since he wasn't exactly finishing his sentences…)

_Je suis fatigué. _- I'm sleepy.

_Désolé. -_ I'm sorry_._

_Mille mercis. _- Thank you so much. (A thousand thank yous.)


	3. Dolphins and Hypocrisy

**Chapter Three:**

_Dolphins and Hypocrisy_

**Paradizo Chateau**

It was late evening. That brief, perfect balance between dusk and dark where deep swaths of purple and fuchsia still swept the lower half of the heavens, but higher up, the first, boldest stars were already making their grand debuts. Holly, lost in thought, barely noticed.

Amazing, she mused, how drastically three short years could affect the course of a lifetime—how one young _boy_ could turn a grown woman's world upside down, quite without her consent, and not even realize it. After eighty years, Holly could count the sum of her romantic relationships on one hand—a fact she typically attributed to dedicating her life to the LEP—and yet, most recently…

A soft-spoken, "Is this a bad time?" nearly startled her off the railing, and Holly spun, head whipping around, fingers strangling the wrought iron, and heart giving an ominous, base drum thud in her chest. In the first second, her eyes could have cut steel; in the second, and her tension melted with recognition.

"Butler," she breathed—a sigh of relief as much as a greeting. The capacity for such a big man to move so softly never ceased to amaze her.

"Sorry," the guard apologized, looking mildly abashed, and he lingered with a rare air of uncertainty on the threshold between manor and balcony. "If you'd rather I leave…"

The evening light cast deep shadows on his broad frame, and at nearly seven feet, he half filled the archway, reminding Holly of a time—not so long ago—when such a sight would have inspired well-placed fear in her heart.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Tossing him her best attempt at a smile, Holly shook her head. "No, it's alright," she assured. "You startled me, but I was…thinking too much anyway." _About things I ought not in my right mind be dwelling so much on in the first place_, added a more cynical, unhelpful inner voice, and she frowned, returning her eyes to the shadowy countryside. "Now's as good a time as any."

Butler grunted, making no verbal response, but took her reply for the invitation it was and joined her in silence.

Minutes passed.

Fuchsias went mauve. Purples deepened, darkened, and eventually turned navy, then black. White stars solidified out of thin air like tiny gems, revealed only after time sifted through the dust of day to disclose of the sky's true treasures.

Finally, her face veiled by the new dark, Holly sighed. "I _am_ sorry," she said, and Butler spared her a glance. "My reaction was…impulsive, biased and…horribly hypocritical." At the last part, his eyebrows rose impressively, and she snorted, "Oh, please," matching the look with one of her own. "I know he tells you everything…" At his silence, she shifted, anxious, against the rail, suddenly uncertain. "He…_did_…tell you…didn't he?"

Butler folded his arms under him, his expression masked in shadow, unreadable. "What?" he asked at last. "That you kissed him eight years ago?"

Holly shut her eyes, glad for the dark.

It didn't _feel_ like eight years ago. Of course it was, technically—but not to her. Just months, to her. "Yes," she said finally, "_that_…" happy that the words made it past her throat—never mind their hoarse, ragged edge. When she opened her eyes, Butler looked pensive, evaluating.

"You're tearing yourself up about it," he realized, making it a statement, and Holly gave a dry laugh—thin and humorless.

"A little," she admitted. "But…not because I kissed him." She let her head slip back, resting it against the wall, and drew her eyes idly over the navy sky, now salted generously with glittering, winking stars. "I think it would have been ok…if that were the end of it," she conceded. "I lost some years in that warp. He gained some. I was…hormonal." Ignoring the tinge of warmth in her cheeks, Holly shrugged, not quite daring to meet Butler's eyes. "I guess it just seemed like a good idea at the time…and maybe right _then_, it was, but…" she trailed off. "That should have been _it_," she insisted, softer. "It can't work here, now…and I know that. There are too many things wrong. I have to just forget it, but…_that's_ what I tear myself up about." She turned her gaze to the North Star, a constant. "Not so much that I haven't put it behind me yet, but more that…I don't want to."

After a long, dragging pause, she risked a peek at her companion. He, too, was contemplating the stars, not even watching her.

She leaned forward. "I believe," she whispered, her tone low and conspiring, as if prompting him from a script, "this is the part where _you_ beat _me_ up."

His eyes flicked her way. Surprise dominated for a moment. Then, gradually, the humor seemed to sink in, and it won her a fleeting smile.

"I see," responded Butler at length, "and that would be to…defend my charge's innocence?"

Innocent Artemis.

Holly felt the first snicker bubble and clapped her lips together. She tried to stifle it—_really_—but failed, choking on it instead. The end result: a bitten-off half-breed between a giggle and a snort, muffled poorly behind a hand which reached her mouth too late.

Butler's amusement shone through uninhibited.

As soon as she could manage, she shot him a glare—but it lacked menace.

"Alright," she growled, "so maybe he's not…_exactly_…the vulnerable, impressionable child type, but…don't you even worry a _little_ that-"

"-you'll garner your feminine wiles, utilize his youth and inexperience to seduce him expertly at the cusp of manhood only to…what? Convince him to do something he'll deeply regret? Corrupt him? Wheedle a proposal out of him only to dump him a day after tying the knot and make off with half his riches?"

"Erm." Holly blinked inarticulately. She tried to imagine _any_one 'seducing' Artemis out of his riches—and nearly cracked a grin.

"You can see why I lack concern," grunted Butler, apparently reading her mind. "Unless of course…" He tilted his head, another ghost of a smile teasing his lips, "…you only want him for his body?"

Holly teetered on her perch, eyes going saucer wide and cheeks flaring up like an incinerator pack—and Butler _laughed_. Not loud or jeering, but _oh_, how she wished for something to throw at him.

"You…that's…" She pointed an accusing finger, narrowing her eyes. "I'm _serious_. You and I both know this has nothing to do with his money or his…well…" She lowered her hand, face keeping its flare, "…perhaps it has _some_thing to do with his innocence, but…why aren't you concerned? You certainly have more right to lash out now than _I_ did when…" Again, her words trailed.

"More?" Butler asked dubiously. "Look, Holly…" The large man took a breath, steeling himself. "Artemis _is_ young…but I trust him, as I always have, to make his own decisions. Frankly…I find myself hard pressed to imagine him becoming smitten with any young woman considered 'appropriate' for someone of his age and social status…excluding, perhaps, Miss Paradizo, but even there, his interest so far has proven to be…minimal, at best…and needless to say I can hardly picture him being _tricked_ into any relationship he doesn't already thoroughly approve of."

"Mm." Holly pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Yes, well…that only seems to emphasize how wrong I was to object in the first place…even if I'd seen you two putting your tongues down each other's throats."

Unfortunately, Butler's floored expression betrayed only a grave lack of comprehension.

Holly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "So let me get this straight," she prodded stubbornly. "You don't object to me developing some sort of…possibly romantic attraction to your charge…but you still find my initial objection to you having any sort of similar relationship with him…_reasonable_?"

"I'm definitely missing something," admitted Butler, lost.

Holly screwed her eyes shut. "Alright…for my benefit: explain. _Why_, again, would it be ok if, say, I…a fully grown woman, decided I wanted to pursue a…'relationship' of some non-platonic sort…with Artemis?"

Butler frowned. "As I said, he's fully capable of making his own life decisions. He reached a level of maturity by age ten that some never reach in a lifetime…and he holds you in high regard, I'm not blind to that. He's nearly sixteen…eighteen, legally, not twelve anymore. If he chooses to associate on a personal level with someone decades his senior…what business is it of mine?"

"I'm a different species," Holly countered.

"You're a smaller, more magical variation on the same basic concept," grunted Butler, unmoved. Then he frowned. "You understand I'd be decidedly less pleased if he took an unprofessional interest in bottle-nosed dolphins."

Holly grimaced. "About that size-difference?" she reiterated, smoothly changing the subject, and Butler quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I thought bigger was bett-"

Holly coughed. "Right, then. So…" She opted to ignore his wink. "From that line of reasoning, how do you possibly conclude that my objection was reasonable?"

Butler's continued confusion was unduly frustrating. "Holly…I'm his _body_guard. He's my charge. He-"

"-is also a criminal," added Holly, "and I'm a police officer." She tapped her chin. "You know what, you're probably right. I'm sure the professional aspects of our lives would never allow for us to actually develop _feelings_ for hi… Oh. Wait." She leveled him with a meaningful stare, and Butler actually blushed—a little.

"That's…hardly fair," he sniped, little more than a muted grumble. She smiled. "But…" Butler took up the gauntlet again, determined. "He's younger than my baby _sister_. I couldn't possibly-"

"I thought we already discussed age?" asked Holly, and Butler startled. "There are more years between you and I than there are between you and Artemis," Holly pointed out firmly, unrelenting, and it took him a long moment to regain his bearings.

"That's…" Butler struggled for a base of reason—understandably difficult. He _had_ just argued that Artemis could choose from whichever age group he took interest in. Finally, he shook his head. "You're a fairy. You age…differently. I'd be old, dying, before he reached his mid-life crisis. It-"

"Actually," Holly interrupted again, and Butler scowled at being cut off for the fourth time over the course of his last four comments, "it wouldn't be a stretch to say you'll probably outlive him…by several decades."

_That_ was enough to make him forget his frustration—and blanch.

Holly watched in silence as the reactions tumbled in kaleidoscope fashion over Butler's features: first disbelief, then confusion, and finally, slow, reluctant comprehension. When he finally faced her, a foreign desperateness lingered behind his mask of calm.

"Surely," he said quietly, "the effects weren't _that_ drastic…"

Odd, for a man to face the prospect of living well past his self-prescribed expiration date and look…distressed? Holly didn't think so. There was a difference between living a long, healthy life, and living to see not only your parents, but also your friends, your siblings, and those young enough to be your children pass away before you.

Obviously, outliving Artemis had never been on Butler's things-to-do list.

"That operation aged you ten to fifteen years internally…but it probably added anywhere from fifty to seventy-five years to your total lifespan, at least," said Holly, and Butler blinked, looking down, taking it in. "I wouldn't be surprised if you have another full century to go. You'll live to see Artemis through the rest of his teens, his adolescence…and on into his old age." Here, she cracked a small smile. "Provided, of course, that he doesn't get us all killed first."

Butler returned the smile—barely. "I'd say either possibility is at least as likely," he guessed, then shook his head. "Forgive me…I have no reason to be this taken aback. It just…never occurred to me that I might…"

"…live to see him through everything?" asked Holly, and Butler tilted his head at her, a new, curious expression dawning.

"Well, when you put it _that_ way…" His smile became a tad more genuine, "…it doesn't sound so bad."

"No…not so bad, and keep in mind," Holly consoled, "the lifespan difference is far less drastic than any that would show up in a fairy/human relationship…I'll still be at the latter end of middle-age when you're both on your deathbeds."

"I suppose…I never really thought much about it," conceded Butler.

Holly didn't feel the need to point out that she had—probably more than was healthy.

"Still," Butler pushed up off the rail, returning persistently to the original topic, "I'm his guardian. I've watched him grow since before he could walk. If it's not professional, it's more of a…father son relationship than anything else." Apparently, something in her expression gave her away, because his lips pursed and his shoulders squared. "What?"

"Really?" Holly asked, a pinch of amusement sneaking in despite her best intentions. "Because you know…I could have sworn there's a key element missing in that analogy…"

"Oh?" Butler folded his arms. "Humor me."

Holly smirked. "Do you honestly think he sees you as a figure of authority?"

Butler stared. Blinked. Then continued to stare.

"As far as I can tell, you'd let him get away with murder. No, wait, let me rephrase that." Holly eyed her companion closely. "You'd help him _commit_ murder, if that were his wish." She watched his brow furrow and imagined the figurative gears in his brain clicking and whirring as he processed the concept. "Feel free to correct me, if you disagree."

After several long minutes, he'd made no such correction.

Finally, Butler huffed brusquely. "You're as difficult to argue with as _he_ is."

Holly flashed a grin. "_That_ I doubt," she said, failing to add that he didn't even _bother_ arguing with Artemis. Few did. "But…I'll take it as a compliment, anyway."

Butler grunted. "What _were_ we discussing?"

"I was apologizing," said Holly. "I said sorry for being a hypocrite, but then you wouldn't even believe I had reason to apologize, so…" Her lips twitched up. "I had to prove myself."

"Ah." He looked the part of a man rapidly developing a headache. "Well…at least you're _female._"

It was a last line of defense. Holly recognized _that_ much. And yet, she couldn't help but treat it with puzzlement.

"Ok, but what does that have to do with…?" she started to ask. And then, it hit. Her lips formed an "_Oh_" of dawning realization before almost immediately thinning to a tight, pursed line, and she rolled her eyes. "Right, sorry," she quipped. "Forgot that Mud Men still took _issue_ with that sort of thing."

Butler's eyebrows quirked upwards. "Primitive?" he asked, but she met his mildly surprised inquiry with an honest scowl.

"Oh, _no_," she crooned sarcastically. "I agree completely. If he _must_ fuck a dolphin, let him have at it, but heaven forbid he consider bedding someone of the same _sex_…what is this world coming to? If-"

Oh dear, Holly mentally backtracked, had she really just compared herself to a fucked dolphin…aloud?

Judging from Butler's impressive state of slack-jawed inarticulacy, she guessed the affirmative.

Wincing, Holly took a personal note never to allow Minerva to connive her into taste testing _any_ Mud Men wine samples before engaging in important conversations—ever.

Fortunately, said blonde French genius chose that precise moment to save Holly from her self-inflicted peril, jumping in a moment before Butler found the words to answer with a chipper, "_There_ you two are!" and turning two heads at once.

"Minerva," Holly and Butler chimed in unison, relieved and hoarse, respectively.

"Dinner's to be served on the hour," informed Minerva, her voice deceptively cheerful even as her eyes darted keenly between them, missing nothing. By her observations end, she quirked a dainty eyebrow, reminding Holly a little too sharply of Artemis's similar all-knowing stare, but thankfully, she made no comment. Instead, she nodded her head towards the inside, saying with the same cheer, "Come, as soon as you're ready, but I'd advise you make it quick. It would be a pity to serve you your thank-you banquet cold."

**A/N:** Haha, I made Holly say the eff word. :P *Ahem*

Anyway, in case you didn't guess YES that was a rant I've wanted to get out there for a while, and I'd appologize for shamelessly making use of the characters to argue it out for me, BUT…I'm not sorry. I can totally accept the fact that there are people who just don't like the Dom/Arty ship. Fine. I'm ok with that. You don't have to like every ship. But to say that it's _wrong_ and _disgusting_? Ok…maybe…I COULD let you get away with that…AS LONG AS YOU DON'T SHIP A/H AT THE SAME TIME. -pant;pant- There could be something I'm overlooking, I suppose…but as far as I'm concerned, they have…like…ALL the same issues. (Age difference, size difference, proffesional clashes, they're even both supposed to be falling under the "friend" category.) The only worthwhile differences I see are a.) Holly's a different species and b.) Butler's…very male. Yes? No?

I'm not trying to start a shipping war or anything - promise. I'm totally fine with the Holly/Artemis ship (srsly, it's canon, ya'know?).

Oh, and yeah, I know I promised more plot development this chapter, and…well…oops? I posted in favor of keeping to a "once a week" schedule - which I probably won't make next week, but maybe. (School's back in, yada, yada. But I'm reading Beowulf, so that makes it ok, right??) Whatever the case, though, I really, really will develop the actual, non-romance-oriented part of the plot…next time.

Until then! :D

P.S. Just remembered: yes, I took a wild guess at how much time Holly's magical healing actually added to Butler's life. I've always wondered but Colfer never said (I now have book confirmation of this), so I decided to make it up and let her fill him in. I like the idea of Butler living long enough to see Artemis through (understandably enough). Too many people treat him like he's on his death-bed and he's not even FIFTY, gosh. Plus, canon supports a "longer than natural" life; why not take advantage of it? I didn't think that having him live to at least 125/150+ years was unreasonable after having a shit-ton of magic jam packed into his system. -shrug- 'Tis my simple line of reasoning added to selfish "make Butler live forever" desire. :D


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